


To Serve and Protect

by WhistleWhileYouWork



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s02e03 Reapercussions, Gen, Hints of kabby, Mild Language, Shocklashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 00:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10320611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhistleWhileYouWork/pseuds/WhistleWhileYouWork
Summary: Byrne's just doing her job.  Abby accepts her consequences.  Jackson thinks everyone is an idiot.  Marcus needs a break.The shocklashing at Camp Jaha in Reapercussions (S2E3), told through four overlapping perspectives.





	1. The Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first foray into writing for The 100, though I've been lurking for a few months now and I've got a few other plot bunnies bouncing around because I love the characters and the premise, but let's face it, there are SO MANY PLOTHOLES!
> 
> Ahem. Anyway. 
> 
> Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

It wasn’t personal. Nothing was personal for Major Byrne. She prided herself on her ability to keep a clear head through a crisis, to keep her focus on the bigger picture. It was how she had risen so quickly through the ranks of the Guard on the Ark, and how she had become Marcus Kane’s second at Camp Jaha.

Well, that and the loss of two senior officers to Diana Sydney’s bomb, one more to defection on Diana Sydney’s stolen ship, and a full dozen who hadn’t been fortunate enough to be assigned to Mecha station for the drop down. Maybe they made it to Earth safely, maybe they didn’t - until they made contact or discovered more wrecks, it would remain a mystery. Byrne wasn’t in the habit of dwelling on the unknown. Earth had enough new dangers to occupy her time.

On the Ark, their objectives had been simple – keep the Ark functioning, keep food, water, and oxygen flowing and recycling, raise up a new generation to do it all over again. The practical difficulties of maintaining life in such an isolated system for decades, generations, required extraordinary discipline and cooperation from every person on board. The Exodus Charter and the Council that enforced it, supported by the Guard, laid out strict regulations for everything from allocation of food and clothing to family planning. There was zero tolerance for breaking the law, no second chances. After all, they wouldn’t get a second chance at saving the human race.

If anyone had thought life on Earth would be easier, they were quickly proven wrong. Between savage Grounders and the struggle to turn the wreck of Mecha station into a properly defensible settlement, the need for law and order was as strong as ever.

Byrne knew there were plenty of people who felt differently. She had to admit, there was something infectious about fresh air and impossibly wide open spaces that awakened a desire for adventure, for bold deeds. But that was no excuse to become cocky and reckless. As a member of the guard, she had a sworn duty to protect and to serve; as Kane’s second in command, she had the additional duty of setting an example for the rest of the camp.

Even if the rest of the camp sometimes meant Kane himself.

“She has to be punished,” Byrne told him. “She’s as good as confessed, and we can’t afford insubordination.”

“She thinks she did the right thing,” he said, shaking his head. “No punishment is going to change her mind.”

“It doesn’t have to. It’s not about her. It’s about keeping the people under control. Earth is still new and exciting, and between Grounders and the missing delinquents, emotions are high. Our people need to know that the rules still apply. To everyone.”

She tried to keep her voice neutral on the last two words, remembering how Kane and Dr. Griffin had clung to each other during their descent to Earth.

“We can’t float people anymore,” he says, and Byrne can’t tell whether he means physically can’t since they’re not in space anymore, or some other more debatable kind of can’t.

“Sir, even back on the Ark, the Council decided against floating our Head of Medical.”

He snorts softly.

“Yes, multiple times. What’s your recommendation then?”

She proposes shocklashing, ten strokes, and to her surprise, he agrees.

They don’t want to delay, it’s important that punishment falls swiftly to make the point stick, so she leaves immediately to fetch Dr. Griffin while he gives the order for the rest of the camp to assemble.

Dr. Griffin isn’t hard to find, she’s almost always holed up in the medical tent. She’s showing her assistant something when Byrne walks in, accompanied by two guardsmen, but both doctors stand and turn when they hear the heavy flap pushed aside. Byrne’s military training respects the appraising glance the doctor casts over all three of them before speaking.

“Can we help you?” The doctor’s question is routine, but her tone is guarded.

“Yes ma’am, we’re going to need you to come with us.”

“Why?” her assistant asks, stepping forward aggressively. Byrne almost laughs – what’s a scrawny egghead going to do against three armed guards? Before the situation can escalate, Dr. Griffin stops him with an outstretched arm, and answers for Byrne.

“Because Chancellor Kane needs me for something,” she says. “Is that right?”

“Yes ma’am.” In a manner of speaking. It’s almost as if the doctor knows what’s going on, but that’s impossible, she and Kane only decided a quarter of an hour ago.

“Alright then. Jackson, keep an eye on things here while I’m gone, please.”

“Sure Abby,” he says, still looking uneasily between his boss and the Major.

They leave Medical in formation, the two guardsmen flanking Dr. Griffin and Byrne following behind.

“Where are we going?” Dr. Griffin asks when they pass the turn to the airlock where the two freed delinquents had been held. Byrne detects a note of apprehension in her voice. Good.

“Outside,” she says shortly.

The crowd has gathered by the time they arrive at the south wall. Byrne doesn’t know exactly what Kane has told them, but they wait silently, watching him watch them. Dr. Griffin pushes through the crowd to him, heedless of the guards struggling to stay at her sides. It’s technically a breach of protocol, but Byrne isn’t afraid of the doctor trying to run, so she lets it slide.

“What’s going on?” Byrne hears her ask Kane, her voice low.

He doesn’t reply, only stares her down, so Byrne takes the lead, stepping in front of the crowd and casually resting a hand on the shocklasher hanging at her waist.

“Abigail Griffin has confessed to freeing and arming two prisoners,” she announces loudly. “These actions are felonies under the Exodus Charter. Her sentence, to be carried out immediately, is ten shocklashes.”

The whispers start immediately, but nobody challenges her, not even the assistant, who Byrne spots hovering at the edge of the crowd. Byrne and Kane are in control.

“Restrain her,” says Kane, and the guards take Dr. Griffin to a set of seatbelt restraints they’ve rigged up between two tall trees. They turn her to face the crowd, their people, those whom she has endangered with her crimes. To Byrne’s disgust, she ignores them, keeping her eyes on Kane, challenging him wordlessly even as her wrists are secured and her arms spread wide. Byrne hears her gasp as the cuffs are tightened and can’t help the smirk that flashes across her face, relishing seeing the untouchable Dr. Griffin realize she’s about to get her due. Byrne considers for a moment, then steps behind the doctor and swiftly rips open the back of her shirt. Not too much, nothing indecent, just enough to clear a workspace, but it’s satisfying all the same.

She steps back around to the side, lets Abigail Griffin see and hear her test the shocklasher, and waits for Kane’s command.

He gives it almost immediately, even as his eyes remain fixated on Dr. Griffin.

“Proceed.”


	2. The Doctor

Abby is almost relieved when Major Byrne shows up in medical. Ever since her conversation with Marcus that morning, she’d wondered what his next move would be, felt his eyes watching her as she made her ambulatory rounds through the workstations. The accidental shooting of Steven Li when the grounder was brought in a few hours later had done nothing to calm her nerves – nor Marcus’, she suspected. Marcus dealt with tension by confronting it; he was a man of actions.

Better for him to do something sooner. Abby was distracted and Jackson knew it, and she knew he knew it, and he knew she knew he knew it. Lucky she could still glare him out of bringing it up.

She hears the Guard coming, heavy boots scuffing across the uneven ground, but continues watching Jackson measure out vaccine dosages. Bring it on.

Byrne’s brought backup, which strikes Abby as overkill. Besides the Major being a head taller and nearly 30 pounds heavier, Camp Jaha is small and full of people; there’s nowhere for Abby to hide.

She reminds herself that she’d known what she was getting herself into, that she was more than willing to spend a few days in lockup in exchange for a better chance of Clarke’s return.

But first, the formalities.

“Can we help you?” she asks. One of the guards looks uncomfortable; she remembers splinting his broken wrist a year or two ago back on the Ark. Byrne, ever professional, is as politely direct as always.

“Yes ma’am, we’re going to need you to come with us.”

Abby feels Jackson tense up beside her.

“Why?” he asks. It comes out harshly and she winces, feels a pang of guilt for keeping him in the dark. She knows he doesn’t trust Byrne, or any of Marcus’ soldiers, and she’s partly to blame for that. He’s listened to too many of her post council meeting rants, especially since Jake’s death, and she’s trained him to fight to the very end for life wherever he can. All too often their work in Medical has been to remedy side effects of the equally necessary work done by the Guard. Jackson has been an excellent apprentice, but he hasn’t yet been in a position to weigh the wellbeing of individuals against the wellbeing of the community. As Head of Medical, that’s been Abby’s job, the most hated part of her job, and she’s been happy to keep the bulk of it from Jackson as long as she can.

“Because Chancellor Kane needs me for something,” she supplies, daring Byrne to contradict her, to parade her misdeeds in front of her assistant, whose heart she can feel racing through his shirt. He’ll find out the truth soon enough, but there’s no need for him to get involved now. “Is that right?”

Byrne allows it, though Abby hears her eyes rolling behind her placid façade.

“Alright then. Jackson, keep an eye on things here while I’m gone, please.”

“Sure Abby.” He’s not convinced, but he’ll follow her lead. Good enough.

She blinks and squints as they leave Medical. It still surprises her how bright the sun can be on Earth. She wonders idly if her pupils would adjust more quickly had she not spent her first forty years on an artificially lit space station.

The yard, normally a hub of activity, is deserted. They skirt the edge, making their way to the main wreck of Mecha station, where most people have claimed living quarters, and where a still functional airlock has been utilized as a secure prisoner lockup. It’s the logical place to have Abby cool her heels for a bit, temporarily out of the picture, any parallels to former Earth drunk tanks notwithstanding.

They walk right past the entrance, and Abby’s brain starts backpedaling. If locking her up isn’t the plan, what’s the second most logical thing for Kane to do with her? Nothing comes to mind. Her pride gives in to her need to know.

“Where are we going?”

She can’t see Byrne behind her, but she swears the Major smirks as she answers.

“Outside.”

Abby frowns, they’re already outside, but then they round a corner and Abby sees the crowd gathered silently at the south wall, Kane facing them with his arms crossed across his chest.

Apparently some things never change.

The crowd parts once it notices their arrival, and Abby goes to confront Kane. They’ve played this scene before, countless times.

“What’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s supposed to answer; they’re supposed to argue.

Byrne speaks instead, says his lines for him, but with only the drone of following a script, not even attempting Marcus’ typical conviction. Abby tunes her out, searching Marcus’ face in vain for answers, until Byrne’s last word catches her attention.

Shocklashes.

“You can’t be serious,” she says. “Shocklashers are for riot control, they’re not for punishment. It’s practically torture…”

But then she remembers that at one time they were in fact used for punishment, back in the very first years of the Ark, until the addition of the third amendment to the Exodus Charter, the one declaring floating the mandatory sentence for any and all criminal offenses committed by persons having reached the age of majority.

“We don’t do this,” she says firmly, not allowing any hint in her voice of the knot starting to grow and twist in her stomach. “Not anymore.”

Her appeal is to Kane; she doesn’t raise her voice to try to sway the crowd. That’s not how she and Kane operate – placed on the Council by virtue of their positions as Head of Medical and Head of the Guard, they’ve never politicked, never vied for popularity. Theirs is a war of competing ideologies.

Or was, anyway. He’s still not following the script, not engaging, and she still doesn’t know why. He can look her in the eye, he’s been looking her in the eye since she approached, but she can’t read him without their usual back and forth.

When he finally does speak, it’s to the guards.

“Restrain her,” he says, and her wrists are seized. She’s led back a short way to stand between two trees. The guards aren’t rough, but they don’t need to be, she doesn’t resist. Her mind is still trying to process her sentence.

Part of the reason for the third amendment had been an excuse to quietly reduce the population where possible, and part of it had been to establish a stronger deterrent against crime, but the event that made it politically feasible for the Council to pass and the people to ratify had been the death of a young man sentenced to shocklashing.

Thomas Martinez, 19, had been arrested for stealing extra rations from his job in the kitchen, and was sentenced to twenty lashes. He passed out after the eighth, but his sentence was carried out to completion, at which time medical personnel were unable to revive him. The cause of death was recorded as heart failure. An ailing father and absent mother, two young siblings, the nonviolent nature of the crime, and accusations of racism and Guard overreach all swirled together in the aftermath to push for change, which ultimately took form as the third amendment.

Abby wondered if she would pass out, wondered how strong her heart was. Surely Kane would cut things short if she did pass out. Wouldn’t he?

Best not to pass out, just to be on the safe side.

The restraints tighten suddenly, drawing Abby out of her thoughts with a gasp. She doesn’t know exactly how the cuffs are locked into place, but she can tell that they won’t slip off, even if they’re asked to support her full weight. She hopes it won’t come to that, hanging by her wrists sounds like a good way to dislocate a shoulder. Again, all the more reason not to pass out.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Byrne disappear behind her. A moment later, sweaty hands grab the hem of her shirt and tear it apart. A cool breeze slithers across her exposed back and she shivers, suddenly hyperaware of the crowd before her.

That was unnecessary, she thinks. Byrne could have rolled up her shirt instead, or even lashed her through the thin, hole-ridden fabric. She’s sweating enough at this point that it’s probably just as conductive as skin. Besides, decent clothing has always been in short supply; Abby only has one spare shirt.

She hides a grimace as Byrne comes back into view, fiddling with the shocklasher. No need to give her the satisfaction.

To ignore Byrne and distract herself from the buzz of the shocklasher, Abby returns her attention to Kane. Their eyes meet, and at last he reacts. It’s small, she almost misses it, but the corner of his eye softens even as his mouth hardens into a thin line.

He’s stealing himself, she realizes - this is painful for him. It doesn’t change anything about her sentence, but she feels a wave of reassurance wash over her as he gives the order sealing her fate.

“Proceed.”

Byrne strikes quickly, and Abby barely has a chance to grasp the restraints between hearing the shocklasher activate and feeling its effects. She’s imagined a burn like touching a static packed light switch, or even perhaps the lightning sphere used in the elementary physics demonstrations, but the shocklasher’s burn doesn’t stay just at the point of contact, and it doesn’t disappear in a flash. She feels white-hot lightning shoot up her back to her shoulders and down her legs to the ends of her toes, and worries about spinal cord damage. Byrne holds it against her back for nearly a full second, and only when she removes it and Abby finds herself panting for breath through a raw throat does she realize she’d been screaming.

One down.

She pulls herself up, gets a better grip on the slippery seatbelts, and focuses her energy on glaring at Marcus.

 “Again,” he says.

She’s better prepared the second time, but she drains more quickly. She loses her balance and feels her arms pull sharply at the shoulders as the tops of her shoes drag through the dirt. The shocklasher blazes a path up her back as she falls, rebounding against the restraints. She takes a minute to let her head hang after the shocklasher recedes, tries to pull in enough oxygen to bring her muscles back under her control, to stand again. She succeeds.

Two down.

She returns her glare to Marcus.

“Again,” he says.

The wedding ring she still wears digs into her skin where she grips the seatbelt. The simple self-inflicted pain of her brute force squeeze feels cleaner, more honest than the electricity hijacking her nervous system, and she tries to focus on the ring, on her left hand. As always, even in this moment, feeling her ring makes her think of Jake, and she wonders what he would have thought of this turn of events.

Her throat is dry as well as hoarse when the pain abates this time, and she runs her tongue around her lips in search of moisture, wishing she could reach the sweat she feels beading on her forehead. Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.

She forces herself back to her feet.

“Again,” she hears, and again she burns. This time she struggles to form coherent thoughts, and her mind fills with the sound of her screams. The edges of her vision blur, but just as she wonders if she’s about to lose consciousness, the shocklasher is lifted and the world comes back into focus.

She shudders and tries to force herself to rally, resolving anew to make it through to the end even as she realizes that she’s lost the count.


	3. The Apprentice

Jackson’s kept the count, silently clenching his jaw and focusing on holding himself back. Thirty seconds into continuing with the vaccines, he’d called himself an idiot and gone sprinting after Abby. It had taken him half a dozen trips across camp before he spotted the commotion by the south wall and arrived breathless at the edge of the crowd.

“What the hell?” he asks as Abby is secured between two trees.

“The prisoners, those two delinquents, apparently she sprang them last night,” says a man next to him. “Gonna get ten lashes for it.”

Jackson groans. Of course she did, she hasn’t been able to get Kane to search for Clarke and the rest of the missing kids.

“Idiot,” he whispers.

The man next to him laughs.

“Maybe, but the kind of idiot I want watching my back.”

“No, I meant…” But Jackson isn’t sure who he meant – Abby or Kane or himself. “Never mind.”

The man gives him a second glance.

“Hey, you’re that other doctor, right?”

“Apprentice.”

“Boy, I don’t envy you having to patch up your boss after this. Trust me, I worked in electrical on Mecha, it’s not gonna be pretty.”

“Trust me, I work in medical patching up you idiots in electrical and everywhere else, nothing I see is pretty,” Jackson shoots back without thinking.

The man’s smile vanishes and his face sours with contempt, but Jackson’s too upset to care. The work of ‘patching her up’ is not the downside of the insanity unfolding before him. He’ll always do anything he can for Abby; he owes her far more than his livelihood.

But what can he do now? Abby clearly hadn’t wanted him involved, but had she really known she was walking into this?

The shocklashes start before he finds any answers. He winces as she screams, feeling useless, hating his inaction, keeping alert for the second it’s over and he can take her back to Medical.

Her legs give out during the second lash and he worries something might have torn until she gets herself back on her feet. They give out again and again after each one until she stops trying to raise herself after the fifth. After the seventh her eyes take on a glassy, unfocused glaze. After the eighth her head hangs and her hair falls forward, hiding her face from view. He wonders if she’s lost consciousness, if he should intervene, but then he sees her fingers curl themselves once more around the seatbelt restraint. On the last two lashes, she doesn’t scream, only groans in a hoarse whisper.

After the tenth, there’s a moment of silence. The crowd waits, watching their Head of Medical slumped before them, looking for some cue from Kane, but the acting Chancellor looks lost in his own thoughts, the coward.

Angrily, Jackson steps forward at the same time as two guards, but they fall back at his glare and he releases Abby himself. Her legs can’t hold her, and she falls hard on all fours in the dirt.

“Come on, Abby,” he says, “let’s get you back to Medical.”

He tries to help her up, to slip himself under one of her arms, but she pulls back, holds him at an arm’s length as she turns away. For a moment he’s hurt – can’t she see he’s trying to help? This is no time for pride, somewhere between being restrained in front of the whole camp with her shirt ripped open and screaming herself hoarse to the big blue yonder, that ship has sailed – but then her shoulders convulse, her head ducks down, and he realizes she’s retching up her breakfast.

“Okay,” he says, remembering that electrocution can have side effects besides burns and scarring, “that’s okay, you’re okay, take your time.”

He pulls her hair back from her face and waits for her to finish, glancing over her shoulder to make sure there’s no blood in what’s coming up. There isn’t, thankfully.

“Okay,” he says again when it seems like she’s done emptying her stomach. “Can you stand?”

“I’m fine,” she rasps. “I just need a minute. And maybe some water.”

Of course she wants water, after the sun and the sweat she’s lost, yelling herself hoarse, and then on top of it all sending stomach acids up the same path. Jackson should have anticipated that. Idiot.

“I don’t have water here, but once we get back to Medical –“

“Here.”

He’s handed a cup of water before he can finish his sentence. Abby takes it gratefully and sips slowly, carefully.

“Thank you,” she says, handing it back to the woman who’d given it to Jackson.

“No, thank you, Dr. Griffin. For trying to save my husband, for trying to find my son.”

“Mrs. Li,” says Abby, and Jackson realizes she’s the woman to whom he and Abby had delivered the news of Steven Li’s death that morning. His wife. Widow.

Mrs. Li crouches down next to Abby, taking one of her hands. “I’m doubly in your debt today, Dr. Griffin. If there’s ever anything I can do for you…”

Abby’s head shakes. It’s not the first time Jackson’s heard people say that to Abby, and sure enough, Abby gives her customary response.

“Not at all, Mrs. Li, we all do our jobs. We’ll find them, I know we will.”

Mrs. Li’s eyes suddenly brim with tears and she chokes back a laugh half hysterical with desperation. The two widowed mothers share a look that Jackson doesn’t fully understand, then Mrs. Li smiles sadly and takes her leave.

“Ready now?” he asks Abby.

“How bad is it?” she asks back, still not attempting to rise.

“I haven’t looked,” he admits.

“Then look. I want to know, don’t sugarcoat it.”

“It can’t wait until we’re back in Medical?”

She glares at him and he gives up, moves around so he can see her back and carefully peels back the edges of her shirt to get the full picture, grateful that she can’t see his face as he assesses the damage.

“Four areas of bruising, one of which is quite a bit larger than the others. Skin is broken in at least three spots, but it’s small. Some blistering around the bleeds, turning a yellowish-white in the centers. Nothing too ugly over the spine. Wounds look clean for the moment, but we should treat them, just in case. That’s my initial assessment, I’ll do a complete work-up once we get back to Medical.”

“Thank you, Jackson.” She sighs, and for a moment she looks older than he’s ever seen her.

“Abby?”

“Let’s go,” she says. She hisses in pain as she tries to shift her feet under her and Jackson steps in, putting her arm around his shoulders and rising with her.

“All good?” he asks when they’ve managed to stand up.

“You’re too tall,” she says, but it’s an old refrain, there’s an undercurrent of tease. He knows she’s complaining about him to keep herself from complaining about the pain.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

She hums a note of assent as they start making their way back. The few people they pass look away quickly, not meeting their eyes. Jackson doesn’t think Abby notices, but it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

When they get back to Medical, he leaves her at one of the beds while he fetches more water, clean rags, and burn salve. He returns to find Abby sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes closed.

“You know, beds are particularly well-designed for lying down,” he observes. “Also for giving me better access to your back.”

She shakes her head.

“If I lie down, I won’t get up. I’d be out the rest of the day.”

“Shouldn’t you be out the rest of the day anyway, after this? As your doctor–“

“As your Head of Medical, I strongly suggest you don’t finish that sentence.”

He doesn’t try to argue further, and her expression softens.

“Besides, Kane’ll be stopping by soon, I need to be awake for that.”

“Kane? After this? He just sets up an appointment like nothing’s happened?”

“There’s no appointment, don’t get so excited. He didn’t tell me, I’m expecting him.”

She swipes the cup from the bedside stand and dips it in the water he’s brought to clean her back, drinking slowly. Jackson sighs and drags one of the rags through the water, moving behind her to begin cleaning the wounds.

“Full name?” he asks when she hisses at his touch.

“I don’t need the psych eval.”

“Potential nerve damage ergo potential brain damage.”

“What quack taught you that?”

“The very best.”

She laughs.

“Fine. Abigail Walters Griffin, M.D., Head of Camp Jaha Medical Operations, finest quack in all the land.”

“What year is it?”

“2149. And it’s the 14th of October, quarter to noon.”

“Count backwards by sevens from one hundred, please.”

She passes every question he gives her with flying colors. He hadn’t expected to find any mental deficits, he’d talked to her enough to know she was still all there, but it gives them both something familiar to talk through, something to occupy her mind while he cleans and probes her back.

He’s just started applying the burn salve when Marcus Kane walks in. Jackson freezes mid-stroke, and Abby looks up.

Kane comes in quietly, respectfully waiting just inside the entrance. His face is blank as he and Abby size each other up.

Abby breaks the silence.

“Thank you, Jackson.”

It’s a dismissal. As much as he feels personally wounded by what’s happened to Abby today, this is between her and Kane.


	4. The Chancellor

It wasn’t personal. Mostly. Maybe.

Three months ago it wouldn’t have been personal. Three months ago, it hadn’t been personal, contrary to Abby’s beliefs.

Three months ago, all he had to do was follow orders.

Life on the Ark had depended on following orders, on everyone doing their part for the good of the community, which just happened to be synonymous with the good of humanity.

Abby would interrupt him here and insist that he replace ‘humanity’ with ‘human race.’

“Humans have to earn humanity,” she’d told him once. “There’s a reason no one talks about felinity or caninity.”

Marcus had informed her that there was no reason to assume that humanity was inherently good, that it was only reasonable to use it as a description of whatever state of being happened to be shared by all members of their species.

Recent encounters with Grounders came to mind, and it occurred to Marcus that he should perhaps carve out some time to reconsider that position.

Not today though.

Today he had his hands full quashing any stirrings of insurrection, reasserting his command of the Guard, and finding a way to prove to the woman whose punishment he was about to use to achieve the first two goals that he shared her goal of reunion with the Skybox kids despite punishing her for trying to achieve that goal.

Good thing she was the smartest person he knew.

Most stubborn too, he thought as he watched her push herself up yet again after once more losing her footing to the convulsions of the shocklash. As she had after each of the previous lashes, she raised her head to find him in the crowd, daring him to meet her eyes and acknowledge the pain he inflicted.

He obliged, meeting her eyes and matching her challenge. He owed her at least that much after today. He also needed to show her that he had no shame in ordering this punishment, that he did it for the greater good.

It wasn’t personal.

And yet he found himself at a loss after the last lash, unable to turn away from her and unable to go to her, unable to move. She no longer held his gaze, she no longer held her own footing, yet her presence rooted him to the ground just as securely as her restraints held her from face-planting into the dirt before her.

The spell breaks when her assistant steps forward and releases her. She falls to her hands and knees, and suddenly Marcus can’t watch anymore, can’t intrude on her privacy any further. He leaves quickly, without a word to Byrne or anyone else.

The easy part is over.

He strides purposefully through camp but he doesn’t have a destination. He tries to look busy enough that no one will stop him as he searches for a quiet place to settle his nerves. Not his quarters, not the new Council war room, he needs somewhere he won’t be found.

He ends up leaving camp, finds himself at the stream they’ve been using for water. He stoops down and splashes his face, drinking deeply. He’s reminded of a story his mother told him once about a commander who led his troops to drink at a stream before a battle, then sent home those of his men who drank the wrong way.

“But what if they wanted to fight?” he had asked.

“They did want to fight,” she’d told him. “The commander had already sent away any who were afraid.”

“Then that’s not fair. And it’s stupid. It’s better to have a bigger army.”

“There are some battles that can only go one way, no matter the size of the armies.”

He hadn’t understood then, but now he wondered if she might have been right. They’d overcome ridiculously low odds in surviving the drop to Earth; they’d survived ridiculously low odds by surviving on the Ark for as long as they did. Sure, everyone had worked hard for four generations to get them to this point, but there had also been some massive screw-ups along the way. Just looking around at the flowing water and the swaying trees should be enough to remind him how lucky they were to be alive right now.

Even if some were currently in worse shape than others.

He needed to talk to Abby.

He wanted to fight, to lead his people through the battles to come. He wanted to step away, to stay by this peaceful stream, to forget about missing children and grieving parents, about Grounder attacks and storing up enough food for winter, about securing Camp Jaha and maintaining order. He wanted somebody to force him to go home.

Alone in the woods, nobody spoke.

He needed to talk to Abby.

He made his way back to camp slowly, deep in thought. The people had gone back to work on their own, nobody stopped him between the heavy new gate to camp and the flimsy plastic curtain covering the entrance to Medical. He paused a moment on the threshold, trying to listen for a hint of what he’s about to interrupt, but heard nothing.

They don’t notice him at first. Abby is sitting on a bed, shoulders tensed, head down, bunching the sheets beneath her in white-knuckled fists. She’s watching the floor, or maybe her eyes are closed, he can’t see her face behind her loose hair. Her assistant is focused on her back, a tube of something white in his hand. He’s the first to notice Marcus hovering on the threshold, and he tenses up as tight as Abby at the intrusion.

Abby notices his pause and looks up sharply, though Marcus notices she moves only her neck, keeping her back still. How bad is it, he wonders.

“Thank you, Jackson,” she says, eyes not leaving Marcus’.

They’re clearly only halfway done, but her assistant replaces the cap on his tube and vanishes through the back, giving Marcus a silent warning glare as he leaves.

Marcus allows himself a small smile.

“He doesn’t like me,” he observes.

“Since when have you cared about being liked?” counters Abby.

Good. She’s well enough to spar. He’s noticed that she hasn’t moved from her perch on the bed, but at least she’s not lying down. He’s not sure he could have this conversation with Abby the patient; he needs Abby the rebel.

“I don’t,” he says shortly, and then the silence hangs between them. As her friend, as the person she clung to as they fell out of the sky together, he wants to apologize, to clear the air and make things right between them again. As her chancellor he can’t allow himself to show any weakness, any doubt in his decisions. Besides, how can you apologize for a decision you’d make the same way again? If he had the chance to do it over, he wouldn’t do anything differently.

Abby’s next question catapults him out of his conundrum.

“Well? Did it work?”

His surprise must be showing on his face, because she clarifies.

“Is the camp back in line?”

“It seems to be.”

He waits a beat, gives her a chance to follow up, to attack him for his callous transformation into a torture endorsing dictator, but she doesn’t say anything, just watches him expectantly, arms crossed, still sitting stiffly against the bed.

“How are you?” he asks.

He sees a dozen sarcastic responses flit across her face, but he’s asking honestly, he needs to know. She must understand that, because she answers earnestly, if not truthfully.

“Fine.”

He raises an eyebrow and she rolls her eyes.

“I will be fine,” she amends.

Fine. If that’s her story, he can treat her accordingly.

“Are you back in line?”

She bristles, as he knew she would, and he catches the flash of pain in her eyes at the movement in her back.

“As much as I ever was.”

He sighs.

“That’s what I thought.”

That rouses her.

“She’s my kid, Marcus. They’re all somebody’s kid. They’re our people too. You can lash me a hundred times, I’m going to do everything I can every chance I get to get them back.”

“I know,” he says. “You’re right, they’re our people and we have a responsibility to protect them. That’s why I’m leading an expedition to find them, bring them home.”

For once, he’s rendered her speechless.

“It’ll be a diplomatic mission. I’ll make contact with the Grounders and find out what happened at the drop ship, taking the Grounder prisoner with me. He’ll know how to find the people who know.”

“He has every reason not to trust you,” she points out. “He could lead you straight into a trap. He’ll probably lead you straight into a trap.”

He’s considered that, knows it’s more than likely.

“Possibly. But it’s our best shot. Even if he does, it doesn’t fail the mission, we’ll have made contact.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No. You’re needed here.” And you’re injured, he adds silently.

“Jackson can take care of medical, he’s more than capable.”

He takes a deep breath, fingers fiddling with the Chancellor’s pin in his pocket.

“It’s not just medical.”

“Marcus, I know we’ve had our differences, and I’ve made your life difficult at times, but I swear, take me with you to find Clarke and I’ll follow every direction, I won’t argue. I’ll pull my weight; I won’t slow you down. I’ll be a model citizen.”

She’s pulled herself away from the bed and taken a few steps toward him. Her voice is urgent, pleading, her eyes are bright with passion, and the realization that she’s begging him - Abby Griffin, stubborn unflappable Doctor-Councilor Abby Griffin is begging him - disorients him more than he cares to admit.

“No,” he begins, trying to clear his head and focus.

“Marcus-“

“I need more,” he interrupts. He needs to spit this out.

“Name it,” she says immediately.

“I need you to be Chancellor. I need you to stay here and lead our people, just in case…”

She freezes in shock, and in any other conversation he’d laugh, but laughter is the furthest thing from his mind today. She recovers quickly.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you out there. You’ll find them and you’ll all come back safe.”

“We don’t know that. And I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.   But I need to know Camp Jaha is in good hands. You’re the only person I trust with this.” He takes the pin out of his pocket and rests it on the table between them.

“Find them quickly,” she says, holding his gaze.

He nods, and she takes the pin.

“Thank you,” she says, and he knows she’s not talking about the Chancellorship. The Chancellorship isn’t a gift, and it isn’t a reward. He’s not giving it to her because he feels guilty, though he hopes she knows he does. He has no regrets. Today’s damages have been driven by necessity, but he still hopes to atone for his part in it all. Bringing home their children seems a good place to start.


End file.
